


The Winter Bride

by shaggydogstail



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blackcest, F/F, HP Reversathon, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 08:09:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9810752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaggydogstail/pseuds/shaggydogstail
Summary: Bellatrix doesn't care for Narcissa's choice of groom, doesn't want her sister to forget who she is, where she belongs.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the reversathon fest on LiveJournal. The prompt was "Bella/Narcissa, with sex as a bargaining tool. A prompt? Well, this is loose, but what if it were the day of one of the girls' wedding, and the other is bargaining for her to stay."

The jewel was obscenely large, and the ornate gold band too wide, too heavy on her slim, pale finger. It glittered ostentatiously in the cool winter sunlight, casting flashes of light every time Narcissa moved her hand, which she did more often than could possibly be considered reasonable; waving at well-wishers, flicking her ash blonde hair over her shoulder, or simply abandoning all pretence and holding out her hand to be admired. It made Bellatrix think of icebergs: pretty and ominous.

She couldn’t truthfully say that it wasn’t a good match. The Malfoys were a respectable family and Lucius stood to inherit a considerable fortune when his mother died. (Lydia Malfoy sat in a wicker chair in the corner during the engagement party, looking for all the world as though she was counting the days as keenly as her son was.) Bellatrix didn’t trust Malfoy, though, with his smug smile and his oily manner. He may have wormed his way into the Dark Lord’s confidence and her sister’s heart, but Bellatrix saw in him the mark of a man who has never really done anything for himself, never believed in anything, and she was sure he’d turn on them both without a second thought if it ever suited him to do so.

Cygnus Black raised his glass and proposed a toast to a fortuitous union between two great houses, to Lucius and Narcissa’s success and prosperity. And their love, of course. Watching her sister simper with false modesty as she sipped from her champagne flute, Bellatrix wanted to smash the glass into her face. That wouldn’t be fitting in public, so she contented herself with collecting Rodolphus and leaving without bestowing a gift on the happy couple, and disparaging the Malfoy family’s gauche dress sense and ill-mannered house elves on the way home.

Narcissa had cried on her wedding day, Bellatrix remembered, sobbed bitter tears and sworn her heart was breaking. Bellatrix had laughed at her then; silly, sentimental Cissy, and told her she’d never find a husband of her own if she didn’t wash her face and pull herself together. If shackling herself to that pompous upstart was Narcissa’s idea of revenge, Bellatrix couldn’t say she was impressed.

Bellatrix couldn’t quite bring herself to admit that she was jealous or concerned about losing her place in Narcissa’s affections. Little Cissy had always been there, so quiet and so pretty, and Bellatrix had never experienced the least difficulty in persuading her baby sister to do just as she asked. So unlike Andromeda, the wilful little madam—Bellatrix hadn’t been the least surprised how that had turned out. But Narcissa was gentle, and easily led, and however would she manage without Bellatrix?

The preparations for the wedding were swift, at Malfoy’s insistence, no doubt. Bellatrix suspected he had at least had the wit to realise that Cissy was too good for him, and wanted to close the deal before she came to her senses. Bellatrix did what she could to interfere with the arrangements—countermanding orders to the house elves, transfiguring the lily-white tablecloths a dirty shade of grey, and placing Warming Charms on the ice-sculptures. None of it made the slightest bit of difference; her mother simply put everything back in place with an elegant sweep of her wand, glancing at Bellatrix with disdain.

‘Really, Bella, I expected better of you.’ Druella Black scolded her eldest daughter as though she were still a naughty toddler. ‘I trust you will comport yourself properly at the ceremony.’ The statement was, assuredly, an order.

Bellatrix kept away from the family home after that, until the morning of the wedding. This would be her last chance to secure Narcissa’s loyalty, and Bellatrix was not accustomed to letting chances slip through her fingers.

She Apparated into the grounds of the old house at daybreak and hurried through the gardens, past the folly where she and Narcissa used to sit and braid each other’s hair in the summer sunlight. (And Andromeda too, but she was little but a distant ghost, an echo of a sister in Bellatrix’s memories.) The shingle path glittered with early morning dew and frost glistened on the rambling roses and the naked twigs of the ancient oak trees. Bellatrix shivered: January was a terrible time for a wedding, she thought, and the bitter chill in the air could be nothing but an ill-omen.

Unwilling to be detained by any more tiresome interventions from her mother, Bellatrix forewent the patio doors in favour of climbing in through the library window, as she had done as a girl. She swept through the room, up a flight of stairs and down the corridor to her sister’s chambers, house elves emerging from nowhere to clean up the trail of dirty ice and snow she left in her wake.

Narcissa was already wearing her wedding robes when Bellatrix arrived, though there were hours to go before the ceremony. Layer upon layer of the finest damask silk shimmered over her tall, statuesque frame. The fabric was so pale, pearlescent white, and it glowed in the watery winter sunlight, giving Narcissa a strange, ethereal beauty, like a spectral Veela.

‘Bella,’ said Narcissa with measured politeness. ‘I wasn’t expecting you.’

Narcissa’s tone and expression were cordial enough, but Bellatrix could feel the snub of being addressed like a distant cousin or tiresome business associate well enough, and it sent a jolt of anger through her.

‘Dressed already?’ she asked, with just the hint of a sneer. ‘In a hurry are you, Cissy?’

Narcissa scarcely reacted, but Bellatrix could see the barely-there flush on her cheeks, and she smirked in quiet satisfaction. ‘Such a short engagement as well,’ Bellatrix continued. ‘People will talk.’

‘ _People_ can keep their vile insinuations to themselves,’ said Narcissa, rising to the bait. She stormed across the room and threw herself down in front of the vanity table, where she sat glowering into the mirror as she brushed her hair with grim determination.

Bellatrix’s twisted smile grew wider and more self-satisfied. ‘Oh, Cissy, dear, have I touched a nerve?’ she asked as she crept up behind her sister. ‘Or perhaps,’ she added in a silky drawl, whispering into Narcissa’s ear, ‘it’s quite the opposite?’

‘Bella…’

‘Taken the family motto to heart, has he?’ said Bellatrix. ‘Is that the reason for your _indecent_ haste?’

‘What is wrong with you?’ Narcissa whipped around to face Bellatrix. ‘Why do you always have to spoil things for me?’

‘Come now, Cissy, there’s no need–’

‘There is every need!’ countered Narcissa angrily. ‘You got married, you left, and then Andromeda–’

‘––Don’t speak about her!’

‘Why should I be left behind?’

Narcissa flung the hairbrush down on the vanity table with her final words, sending bottles of perfume and make-up scattering onto the floor. Her pale skin was suffused with the faintest tinge of pink and she was breathing heavily.

‘Ah, Cissy,’ cooed Bellatrix, dropping to her knees so that she and Narcissa were face to face. She cupped Narcissa’s chin with one hand, using the other to stroke gossamer pale strands of hair back off her face. ‘Is that what brought all this on?’

Narcissa sniffed, tears springing to her eyes. ‘I don’t want to be left behind,’ she admitted in a whisper. ‘You promised, Bella, you promised you weren’t leaving me really, but you did and then…’ Narcissa hiccoughed, her voice breaking into a sob.

‘Oh, Cissy, darling,’ soothed Bellatrix as she kissed a tear from her sister’s cheek. ‘Have I been neglecting you?’

Narcissa nodded mutely as Bellatrix continued to kiss her face and neck, all the while murmuring in the low, gentle tones that were familiar only to Narcissa.

‘Poor baby girl. Should have known you didn’t want to get left behind. But surely you didn’t think I’d forgotten you?’

Bellatrix moved her hands down from Narcissa’s face and hair, deftly turning her attention to the ornate lace ties and pearl buttons of her bridal robe.

‘Don’t,’ Narcissa half-muttered as Bellatrix unfastened her robes, but there was no conviction in her voice.

‘Hush, Cissy.’ Bellatrix unfastened the last of the buttons and let Narcissa’s robes fall open, revealing porcelain skin and expensive hand-embroidered underwear. This was something she understood at last—Narcissa’s need to be pampered and played with, touched gently, like the most cherished, exquisitely-made doll. She pressed her lips to the curve of Narcissa’s breast, just above her corset, and kissed the milk-pale skin. Narcissa shuddered but made no further protest, just relaxed and rested her hands on the table behind her in an open gesture of surrender.

Bellatrix was not a patient woman by nature—quick to anger and dangerously volatile, but she could exercise patience when the need arose. She knew that Narcissa liked to be treated as though she were made of spun glass, revered and delicate, so she moved slowly and with great delicacy as she unpicked the ties on Narcissa’s corset, smirking silently to herself at Narcissa’s sigh of relief as her breasts were released from their rigid bindings.

There was no need for words, no discussion or explanation. The touch of lips on skin, the press of fingertips, the soft sighs and contented moans all so familiar, each movement a reminder of childish games; hiding in blankets and rolling in the long grass by the lake. Narcissa lifted her hips obligingly to allow Bellatrix to slide her knickers down over her sculpted thighs and smooth calves, then parted her legs eagerly, unashamedly offering herself up.

Triumphant, Bellatrix saw no further need for gentleness. Her fingernails sliced into the translucent skin of Narcissa’s thighs as her tongue probed deep inside of her and swiped roughly across her clit. Narcissa mewled and gasped as Bellatrix invaded her pussy with lips and tongue, and the maddening painful-too much-wonderful scrape of teeth. She clasped her legs together, capturing Bellatrix’s head between her thighs as she grabbed thick handfuls of hair, pulling at the roots and holding her roughly in place as her own hips rocked forward of their own accord.

Bellatrix felt trapped and half-suffocated, and she dug her fingers ever deeper into Narcissa’s skin, leaving scratches and fingerprint bruises on her legs. As Narcissa’s breathing became hitched and shallow, punctuated by delicious little, ‘oh, oh, _oh_ ,’ gasps, Bellatrix slowed her movements again, licking and sucking with intolerable softness. Narcissa came with a high-pitched gasp and the threat of tears, her body shaking and her nails digging into her sister’s scalp.

It took only a few brief sweeps of her wand for Narcissa to remove the scratches from her legs, before dressing herself again with slow, methodical movements. Bellatrix sat on the bed and watched her dress, repair her make-up and brush her hair, with only the hint of a smile playing across her lips, her dark eyes inscrutable.

Narcissa finished dressing and rose from the vanity table, smoothing down her robes and shaking back her mane of silver-blonde hair. Composed once more, she looked beautiful and luminous, and eerily calm. Bellatrix smiled and rose to join her, taking Narcissa’s hands in her own.

‘My sister,’ she murmured approvingly.

Narcissa nodded, bowing her head dutifully. Bellatrix smiled indulgently and kissed her on the forehead. _Of course_ , she thought to herself; how could she have supposed otherwise?

~*~

The wedding ceremony was long and boring, the speeches pompous and sycophantic, and the endless small-talk at the reception vexed Bellatrix’s nerves. Lucius milled through the crowds with a possessive hand on Narcissa’s arm, but the gesture failed to infuriate Bellatrix by this point; she found it rather laughable.

The ice sculptures at the reception were swans, as it happened, no doubt intended as a tribute to Narcissa’s delicate grace. They melted without assistance from Bellatrix, though considering the fate of the supplier, faced with the wrath of Druella Black, amused her. Rodolphus attempted to steer her clear of the puddles of melted ice, but Bellatrix splashed through them regardless, kicking her feet to spray sludge onto the flowergirls’ dresses.

Blood is thicker than water, after all.


End file.
